


Drabbles from the Lower Decks

by brodiew



Category: Star Trek: Lower Decks (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27414850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodiew/pseuds/brodiew
Summary: This will be my drabble and ficlet thread for Star Trek: Lower Decks.  I work with different genres and ships and can sometimes digress in AU territory. I hope you enjoy this first offering. If you do, drop a kudo or a comment to let me know I'm on the right track.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Wild Stallion

There were times when Beckett Mariner resented being on the Cerritos. Her mother and father continued to kick her back and forth like a football, each hoping to break her like a wild stallion. Their problem was that the stallion didn't want to be broken and yet she didn't want to be thrown off the proverbial ranch either. When she would become too disruptive on one ship, she would be sent off to the other. Her mom was an battle axe. That's old Earth language for difficult and unpleasant due a fierce and determined attitude. She was all of that. On the other hand, her father was a big softy bundled up in a Starfleet Admiral's uniform. At least he was a softy with her. She guessed he was a soft with mom was well. Ewww!

Much Ado About Boimier

“You've got to loosen up, Man,” Beckett said, leaning back against her chair in the lounge. “I can see that your collar is so tight that no oxygen is getting to that brain of yours. You're white as a ghost!”

Boimier stared at her with dull, beleaguered eyes. “That is my normal skin color, Mariner. My complexion is fairer than most.”

“Well that's not fair, is it?” Beckett said, leaning forward and slamming her half full cup on the table. “Perhaps you should try the tanning salon on Deck 8 or start drinking more carrot juice, or My God, Man, talk to Doctor T'Ana about darkening the pigment of your skin!”

“I'm not going to do that, Beckett and you know it,” Boimier said, blandly.

Raising her cup in the air she said: “I do? How do I know what you're going to do? How do I know what anyone is going to do? Did I know that Kirk would destroy the Enterprise on Genesis? Did I know that Tasha Yar never died, but had a Romulan baby? How could I know that Benjamin Sisko was part god, but it took him FOREVER to figure it out? Oh, and for all the Dilitium, IN THE GALAXY, how could I know that after seven years and multiple acts of heroism that Harry Kim, of The USS Voyager, would NEVER BE PROMOTED! So, tell me, Boimier, how in the universe am I supposed to know that you won't get a tan?”

The young lieutenant buried his face in his hands.

Taken for Ransom

At the end of the day, Beckett lay on her bunk exhausted, but not too exhausted to fantasize about Commander Ransom. It was an action that disgusted and excited her. The man was most times an idiot and a few times insanely brave and effective. As an ensign, she really had no grounds on which to judge him, but as a woman, she was attracted to his bold displays of machismo. She considered banging her head again the bulkhead just to rid of these lurid and debasing thoughts, but figured her head would hurt far more than her pride when it was over. She did not know the man, but it was enough for him to wound her in order end their dispute over whom would face the gargantuan Gelraki in combat. He had not only taken responsibility, as first officer should, but he shirtlessly, and easily, dispatched the warrior. It was kind of hot. Not. Yes it was. No, it wasn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Beckett's reactions to Brad leaving on the Titan without saying goodbye. 
> 
> Still in my drabble prompt word format. If you have a prompt, don't hesitate to throw it my may. 
> 
> If you like what I'm doing, please drop a comment or a kudo. Much appreciated!

Wait

“Wait a minute?” Mariner yelled into D'Vana's face. “You better be freaking kidding me! Boimier left the Cerritos without telling me? Just vanished into the rarified air of The USS Titan, captained by none other than Jean Luc Picard's Number One, William T. Riker and his wife Deanna Troi, also late of the Enterprise-E?”

“Yes?” D'Vana whispered, wincing in preparation for another tirade. “But I don't think Troi is his co-captain.” 

“What matters is that that little Cheese Whizzler did exactly what I would expect him to do right after telling me I was his best friend. Do you know what that means?” 

D'Vana gulped, unsure how to answer. “No?”

“Is that a question or a statement D'Vana?” Beckett said, throwing her hands in the air. “It means I'm pissed and that Brad Boimier is in for a Beckett Beat Down next time I see him.” 

Barb 

“Hey, Mariner!” Jack Ransom called when he caught sight of her exiting Sick Bay. “Got a sec?” 

She turned and shot him a mild, incredulous glare. “You're a senior officer, Commander. It's my job to have a sec for you.” 

“Oooh, still mad, huh?” Ransom gritting his teeth and cinching his eyebrows. “I just wanted to say that that thing in your mo-the captain's office was not what it sounded like. I do not get ha-”

“Let me stop you right, Jack,” Mariner interjected. “Before you pile more on the mountain of evidence against you.” 

“You wouldn't,” Ransom said, fear lacing his words. 

“No Jack, I wouldn't. But I'm not in the mood to trade barbs with you today.” 

Awash 

By the time Beckett had sent her 125 unanswered message, she was awash in frustration, anger, guilt, and, as much as she hated to admit, sadness. She would not cry. She could feel the emotion rising in her throat and tears welling in her eyes. 

You will not cry, Beckett. This kind of soppy emotion is not what we're made of. This kind of softness is for people like Brad, not to be shown because of him. If you start crying, Beckett, they will hear you. They will wonder about you. They will think you are weak. Vincdicta is not weak! 

Turning over in her bunk, she moved her head into the corner as far as she could and allowed the tears to roll down her cheeks. She cried silently wondering why Brad would leave without saying goodbye. 

Heaven 

Beckett found herself on a beach, blue skies and sunshine. The waves crashed at her feet. Looking down the beach, she saw a figure. She could not make out who it was. He wore a white linen suit and wind caused the coat and shirt and pants to ripple around him. It had to be a him. His dark hair was short, but long enough to blown about in the wind. Brad? What was Brad doing in a white suit down the beach from her. Suddenly aware of herself, she was also in a white dress, which billowed in the wind. 

Involuntarily, a swell rose in her chest and she started running toward him. What was happening? She could see that he was running toward her as well, with open arms and big fat grin on his face. She was running hard now, pumping her arms, while he still seemed to be moving slow motion. When they collided, it was not a warm loving embrace. Beckett threw a hard right cross that sent slow motion Boimier backwards in to the frothy sea. 

Mairner awoke with a start. “Oh, Hell no!” she barked into the silence. 

Haven 

Brad Boimier loved his new quarters. It was small, but it was all his. No more bunking with the lower decks. No more snoring, or sleep walkers or late night chats that kept him awake. Best of all no Beckett Mariner talking incessantly about Starfleet history and bucking protocol. No more Beckett Mariner, stealing his thunder every time he tried to show initiative to his superior officers. No more Beckett Mariner putting him in a head lock and giving him a friendly, if painful nuggie. No more Beckett Mariner telling him that he was her best friend and that she was learning to take her job as a Starfleet officer more seriously. No...No more Beckett Mariner. He sat on his bed and stared at the blank walls.  
Had he made a mistake? Anxious desperation spread across his chest and to his extremities. What would he do with out Beckett? She was his confidence. She was his bravery. She held him back when he pushed himself too hard. She was his sounding board. She told him when his ideas were trash and when when they were good. What had he done? He had taken a golden opportunity. But at what cost? His best friend?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this set. 
> 
> I realize that some of these could be expanded into one shots. I might do that with aloof. I haven't decided.
> 
> If you like what you read, please drop a comment or a kudo to let me know I'm on the right track.

Pump 

“It's all fun and games until a warp core coolant pump fails, on Beta shift, and and they have to call the 'A-Team' to the rescue,” Sam Rutherford said, with no small level of prideful sarcasm. Switching off his heads up display, he turned to Beckett, who leaned casually against the core which had nearly melted down. 

“Not bad, Sam,” Beckett said in a complimentary tone. “There might be a commendation in it for you.” 

“Do you really think so?” Sam replied, excitedly, placing his hands to his face. “Maybe with a commendation, Commander Billups will notice me.” 

“I think his scanners have already picked you up, Sammy,” Beckett said. “You're like a cyborg Wesley Crusher. How many times have you saved the ship?” 

“Shhh!” Sam said, raising a finger to his lips. “Speaking the name of the Traveler formerly known as you know who could summon him to the ship. He usually brings bad news.” 

“WESLEY CRUSHER! WESLEY CRUSHER! WESLEY CRUSHER!” Beckett chanted loudly, drawing the name out. 

“Your funeral,” Rutherford said as he rolled his eye and left Main Engineering. 

Fence 

When D'Vana entered the forward cantina, she saw Beckett staring out a port window at the passing stars. Her friend looked lost in thought. 

“What's on your mind, Beckett?” D'Vana said. “You look stumped. Not a normal state for you.”

“Hey D'Vana,” Beckett said, absently. “Just thinking about Shaxs. I want to have a memorial, but I'm on the fence about a high kill count holo simulation, with no safety protocols or a live action Bat'leth tournament. All would be welcome as spectators, of course, but only Shaxs level bad asses need apply to compete.”

“That sounds dangerous, Beckett,” D'ava observed. “Do you think the captain would allow it?” 

Beckett chuckled at that. “The Captain doesn't need to know anything. Ransom is already interested.”

Beach

The beach dream was starting to recur and as much as Brad deserved a good punch in the face, Beckett was getting tire of abusing him night after night. She had talked to Dr. T'Ana and asked if there was a way to disrupt the recurring cycle. Her response had been way to complicated for Beckett to want to implement. She backed away from the feline physician slowly and bolted out the sickbay doors. 

There had to be a way to change to dream or end it altogether. She wondered if creating a holo program of the dream and changing the sequence of events might somehow seep into her subconscious. The following night, the dream ended just as she had programmed it, with her hugging Brad tightly...and then then headbutting him and watching him stagger back in to a large wave. The night after that was blissful absent of any Boimier on the beach. 

Ramble 

D'Vana, Sam, and Brad sat with their chins in their hands listening the Beckett go on and on about the news of her mother being captain getting out.

This thing is going to blow over in no time. I've already had plenty of folks approaching me asking to influence this or that, to ask about the Captains favorite this or that, even what size her uniform is? Weird, right? I mean who am I to have senior officers coming to me in secret to ask what they could very well ask her in the open. I mean, on one hand, it's kind of cool to be in such demand. I have been trying to keep a low profile on this ship. Under the radar as they used to say back in the day. Now that the cat, not T'Ana, is out of the bag, I may have to turn the tables on these suck ups to restore my anonymity. Am I right? I should just walk right into her office and reported every single one of them. If they want to take advantage of me then they have another thing coming. 

Boimler suddenly sat up straight with eyes popping from his head. “Every one of them?” 

Beckett smiled knowing. “Everyone but you, Bradster! It wouldn't be buffer time with out Brad!” 

“No, really,” Boimler said. “You're not going to report every office who tried to exploit you about the captain?

“I haven't decided yet, but you'll be the first to know?”

Aloof 

It didn't take Beckett long to notice that there was something wrong with D'vana. Her friend had been acting strangely ever since the Vindicta incident and Beckett needed to know why. She couldn't have the band breaking up just because Brad left the ship with out saying goodbye. She found the Orion in the work out room, sitting on a rowing machine.   
“Hey D'Vana what's up?” Beckett said in opening. 

The Orion looked up from her sitting position and Beckett could see her anxiety rise. 

“Uh, nothing,” D'Vana answered, pensively. “Just rowing. What are you doing here?” 

“Looking for you. I want to know why you've been acting so strangely lately; like you've been trying to avoid me.” 

D'Vana got off the ergometer and stood face to face with Beckett. “I have been trying to avoid you.”

“Why?” Beckett asked, truly mystified. “I apologized for the Orion slave girl thing. I was just trying to get us all into weird places for the holo-program. I had no idea it would-”

“-Shut up for a minute, Beckett. Just shut up!” 

Beckett could see that her friend was distraught. The slave girl thing had struck a nerve and it was more serious that she had originally thought. “Okay. Okay.” 

“The bottom line is that my Beckett meter is broken,” the medical ensign said, seriously. “I just need a break. Give me some space for a few days. I'm asking as your friend.”

D'Vana walked out of the athlectic center without waiting for Beckett's answer.


	4. Chapter 4

"I just wanted to ask if -" " - no."

“I just wanted to ask if-”

“No!” Beckett interjected harshly. “Not even close. I'm not in the mood. Today is a good day to die! It's Dead, Jim!”

“But, I didn't even get to my question,” Boimler said. “I just want to-”

“It doesn't matter what your question is, Brad!” Beckett raged “I'm not going to answer. I'm going to be childish and stick my fingers in my ears and start saying lalalalalalala. Get me?”

Brad looked at his crewmate and a person he thought was his friend. Even though he had hurt her feelings, he was surprised at the by the way she was acting. He shouldn't be surprised but he was. Maybe it was his time on the Titan, the separation from her, and the experience of a Starship crew that lived up to his expectations. The Cerritos, at times, seemed like a madhouse. The Titan, on the other hand, was a well oiled machine captained by one of Starfleet's best and brightest. Coming home, if that was what it was, was harder than he expected. Brad decided to stop trying when Beckett wouldn't stop her childish distraction.

Stiff Arm

When Boimler returned to The Cerritos, I decided to give him the old Heismann stiff arm. Yes, I know about the Heismann Trophy and the stiff arm being one of the better ways to keep a defensive back from tackling you as you run with the ball. Well that is what Boimler has been trying to do: tackle me while I ran away from him. Why am I running from him. Let's not concentrate on that for now. Bottom line is that the kid doesn't deserve my full attention at the moment. At least, I'm not in a place to give it to him. In fact, my emotions are a tangled mess which is causing me to lash out and treat him badly because I'm still hurt that he left without telling me. Yes, chalk one up for the erstwhile ensign who is tres' self aware, but a bit of train wreck when it comes to dealing with said emotions, in a healthy way, and telling my friend that my feelings were hurt and that I like him more than my relentless hazing lets on. Better to stiff arm him until he gets the message that I want to talk to him desperately, but don't know how to let down my guard. Right?

You take the Good, you take the Brad...

As a Captain, Carol Freeman wasn't sure she was glad to have Boimler back or not. He was good officer on paper and did his best to do things by book, but he was also uptight, lacked confidence, and had repeatedly shown questionable judgment in crisis situations. Granted, he was a junior officer and allowed to learn from his mistakes, but she would need to keep an eye on him to make sure he did, indeed learn from the consequences of his actions.

As a mother, she was thrilled to have to the young man back aboard. Beckett was bad enough when he had been on board before, but after his transfer to Titan, she had gone from good-hearted mischief maker to a grumpy Gorn who seemed to have backslid almost immediately after making a pledge to be a better officer. It was the captain's job to know her officers, especially her daughter, and the loss of Boimler, who apparently had never said goodbye, was a heavy blow to bother her heart and her ego. Carol knew how lager her daughter's ego was and to have taken such a hit could put ever closer in danger of being booted out of Starfleet regardless of her parent's influence. Boimler being back was a good thing for Beckett, and by extension, Carol herself. Now, the burned bridge needed to be rebuilt. Unfortunately, that meant that Beckett would have to set her sizable ego aside.

Awkward Apologies

Brad Boimler had been stalking Beckett Mariner. Wait, that sounded bad. Brad Boimler had been hunting Beckett Mariner. Yeah, no. Brad Beckett and been following Beckett Mariner. Better. Much more benign and less creepy. The bottom line was that Brad had been tracking her from the shadows, waiting for the moment to pounce on her unannounced and declare-Why won't the pendulum stay on the nice side! Brad wanted to apologize to Beckett and make it more than a platitude. It had been wrong of him to leave without telling her and even more wrong to leave her tidal wave of messages unanswered. But, she wouldn't let him. She was as wrapped up in herself, albeit in much less healthy way, as he was when he took Riker up on his offer. He needed a way to get her attention and make his heartfelt amends. He would either slap her face or throw a Martini in her face. That would do it. If she want to lalalala him, he would take an equally childish route.

From behind the bar, in the forward cantina, Brad watched at Beckett, D'Vana, and Sam, talked. The medical ensign and the engineer were engaged in animated conversation while Beckett rested her chin her hand looked out the port window with a forlorn expression.

“Why are you crouching behind my bar?” asked the tall, dark Bajoran barkeep.

“Observing,” Boimler said.

“Order something and observe somewhere else,” the bartender intoned.

“Okay,” Brad said. “I would like a Martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

“Who are you? James Bond?”

“Who?” Boimler asked, perplexed by the question.

“Never mind.”

The Bajoran produced the Martini in no time and handed to Boimler. “Get going.”

Brad took the drink and moved as quickly as he could between the tables as he tried to approach Beckett unseen and keep from spilling the drink. As he closed in on her table, he lost his footing and stumbled forward dousing Beckett's face with the syntoholic cocktail.

“What the hell?” Beckett exclaimed, rising from her chair. Once her surprise had passed, she began licking her lips at the exquisite taste the martini.

“Oh My god!” Boimler burst out, bracing himself on the table. “I'm so sorry. I didn't-”

“You didn't what, Brad?” Beckett said, angrily, wiping her mouth with her the back of her hand.

Brad's mortified expression changed as he watched her lick her lips and wipe her mouth. It wasn't the first time he had seen either, but at this moment, it was quite distracting.

“I didn't know that you licking your lips was so hot,” he said as in a daze.

Beckett's mouth fell open in surprise as did her friend's.

“Wait, what?” she said, her face scrunched in confusion.

Boimler's pale face blushed bright red as soon as he realized he'd said what he was thinking out loud. He stood up straight and knew he needed to change the subject immediately. He took her confusion as an opportunity. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he put a tractor lock on her eyes.

“Beckett, I'm so sorry I left on The Titan without telling you. It was really rude of me. Yeah, Rude. I got the offer and jumped at it and left in a hurry because Riker was shipping off. I could have stopped and told you. I could have sought you out and let you know I was leaving. I didn't do it because I didn't have time, and truthfully, I didn't want you to try and talk me out of it.”

Beckett tilted her head as she absorbed brad's apology. “So, you thought I would talk you out it? That's why you didn't let me know you were leaving. That's why you ignored and brick ton of messages and didn't respond to me in months? Once were gone, me talking you out it was a non issue. You were just being an a-hole at that point. I have enough of those in my life. I don't need that crap from my friends.”

“I know. I know. I was wrong, Beckett. I was thinking about me. I was thinking about my resume and the great opportunity to serve under William Riker. I had tunnel vision. Like I usually do. I'm not apologizing for taking the assignment. I'm apologizing for leaving you and Sam, and D'Vana, high and dry.”

“But, you think I'm hot?” Beckett said, throwing him a curve ball.

“That's not the point,” Brad said, trying to redirect her. “I'm saying I'm s-”

“Isn't it, though?” she interrupted. “Just a little bit the point. I mean, how long have you had these thoughts? Were you unable to face them? Did you leave because if you told me, I might have similar feelings and want you to stay.”

Sam and D'Vana sat wrapt by the scene before them.

“Uh,” Boimler said, stymied. “No. You sound like you think I'm in love with you when all I said was that your luscious lips make me feel funny inside.”

“What?” Beckett barked.

“Er...umm,” Brad stalled. “I-I am not in love with you. I just d-didn't want any drama when I left.”

“Now, I'm a drama queen? What is up with you, Brad?”

Brad shook his head as he had many times before when hitting a wall with Beckett. There was no arguing with crazy.

“The bottom line is I'm saying I'm sorry. If you can't, or won't see that then there is nothing else I can do.”

Sam and D'Vana turned to Beckett, awaiting her response.

“Listen up, Brad,” she said, taking him into a bear hug. “Apology accepted. It's good to have you back. Just know that if you pull that stuff again, I'll kick your nuts so hard, we won't be able to have children.”

“Beckett,” Brad said, once she released him from the hug. “I'm not-”

“Shhh,” she shushed him, placing her index finger to his lips. “We can talk about your inappropriate comments later. For now, all is forgiven. Have a seat.”

Boimler was happy that Beckett accepted his apology. However, nothing with her was ever simple.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing for these characters. I added and couple of Tendiford, if that's a thing, to this chapter. I'm sticking to the zany, absurdist bent to Beckett, Brad, and the crew. I hope you enjoy.

Perfect Smile

D'ava Tendi looked at herself in the mirror of the lower decks lav. He had said she had the perfect smile. When ever she smiled, she always felt self conscious; like her teeth were crooked or her dimples too pronounced. She grimaced in the mirror and frowned and grinned and scowled. Watching as her face morph before her was weird, but cool at the same time. He said she had the perfect smile. She smiled and watched as the edges of her mouth turned up. At first she showed no teeth. Opening her lips, she caught a glimpse of when he meant. Suddenly, her freckles began to burn and the shade of green in her cheeks deepened. Leaving the lav, Tendi wondered if her blushing cheeks were due to her own pride or the value Sam had seen in her.

Not Normal

“...we won't be able to have children...”

Brad Boimler had picked up on that bit of word play and it was keeping him from enjoying a good night's sleep. The woman whom had made the threat about kicking him in the nether regions also said that he would not be able to have children because of it. But it wasn't as simple as her boot in his balls. She said 'WE'. We would not be able to have children! What the hell was that supposed to mean? He knew where babies came from. Of course, he did. Did she mean adopting? Wouldn't they have to be married for that? And, If they were married, wouldn't they just have their own children. Back to where babies come from. He was supposed to be scared that she would take his baby making power away, but she was suggesting that they might...

Now, he knew sleep would evade him for the rest of the night. He would be pondering what was more terrifying: A kick in the balls from Beckett or being in bed with her?

Holding Hands

The concert in the forward cantina was less than D'vana had expected. She was hoping for classical or neo-Rigelian jazz, but what she got was closer to the ancient art of Karaoke. She was stretching it by calling it art, but she was willing to concede that one could train their voice on the classic song from the past and present. Sam was more enthralled by the performance and she waited patiently as Brad and Beckett belted out a song called 'Rock Me Like a Hurricane'. She guessed she deserved what she was getting. Sam had told her that Mariner and Boimler were performing; and, in retrospect, she knew that neither of them played and instrument. The next song was called 'More than Words' and it caught D'vana's attention. Unlike the previous song where her friends were sounded like tortured Targs, their harmony on this one was actually quite good. In fact, as they sang to each other, she began to feel uncomfortable because it sounded honest. She turned to look at Sam, surprised to find that he was already looking at her. Genuine affection shone in his wistful gaze.

“Would it be okay if I held your hand?” he asked, in a low tone.

She met his gaze and smiled as she gave in an affirmative nod.

“Perfect,” he said, taking her hand and resting them both on his thigh.

Missing You

Contents of video message 122 to Lt. Jg Brad Boimler, USS Titan

Oh you messed up big time this time, Brad. Oh the things I have been planning to do to you when you-if you come back are monstrous. You thought I had a devious mind before, well, Buddy, you ain't seen nothing yet. What really sucks if that I have to go into a supply closet to record this message because, Ensign Tamara Blakely is teasing her hair into infinity. Do you know what it feels like, much less looks like to tease your hair so much it looks like cotton candy? No? You will, Brad. Oh as god as my witness, I will tease that little mop of black until it looks like an afro. Do you want to walk the ship with an afro, Brad? Then answer my damn messages! You're silence is driving me to drink, Brad. You know what happens when Beckett drinks, don't you? Nothing good! That's kind of where I am with you right now. Nothing good. I can't think of a single solitary compliment to pay you. You know where I left those compliments, Brad? Do you? I left them in the message number 78. You know what message that was? That was me in the bargaining stage, Brad. That was me thinking 'hey, the Bradster can sing. He keeps a neat bunk. Brad understands buffer time. Brad and I work well together. Boimler gets me. I get him. That was when Tendi told me she thought we were really singing that song to each other. After puking in the lav waste bin, I started to thi-COMPUTER DELETE MESSAGE!

Routine Exam

“Okay Ensign Mariner, you can strip,” Dr. T'Ana said matter of fact.

“Come again?” Beckett replied, shocked.

“I said strip naked, Ensign,” the feline doctor repeated.

“You realize there are no walls in Sickbay,” Beckett said, sweat forming on her brow. “No privacy.”

“And why is that a concern?” T'Ana asked, eyes on her medical PAAD. “This is the 23rd century after all. We have dispensed with hunger and money and aggression, why not modesty? Does it bother you that once of your crewmates sees you in your Birthday suit?”

“Hell yes, it bothers me,” Beckett replied, piqued. “Have you been dipping into Ransom's pain killers?”

“Ensign, painkillers are a thing of the distant past,” the doctor stated.

“Oh, I know,” Beckett said, nodding her head in self assurance. “I noticed a bottle of Romulan ale missing from my stash. Are you drunk on the job, Doc? You must be to ask me to get naked without a curtain at least!”

“I did not take your illegal contraband nor have I not had anything but Racktajino to drink this morning.”

“Then you must be hiding something,” Beckett said, nervously. “I heard about that Doctor Bashir out on Deep Space Nine. Man was hiding his genetic enhancements for years! Oh, I have your number now, Doctor. You're hiding your genetic deficiencies! You don't really know what you're doing. Do you? That is the only reason I can imagine you asking me to get naked.”

T'ana sighed heavily. “Do we have to go through this for every exam, Beckett? Strip to your damn underwear or I call the Captain. Do you want me to get Momma on the comm, Ensign? Do you?”

Beckett met the Doctor's eyes and gave curt shake of her head as she began to disrobe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. I'm glad to be back with a new set. I hope it hits the mark. These are all different in tone. I hope you enjoy! If you do, don't hesitate to drop a kudo or comment to let me know I'm on the right track.

Alarm Clock 

Brad Boimler stirred at the sounds of the repeated beeping that emanated from the display panel at the head of his bunk. 

“Another few minutes, please,” he groaned to the computer. 

“Five minute snooze acknowledged,” said the computer. 

“Another hour, you faceless, stuck up, know it all,” croaked another voice from behind Boimler.

He stiffened as he felt the pressure against him. There was someone else in his bunk. 

“One hour snooze denied. Duty shift begins in 35 minutes.”

“Beckett? he asked, feeling warm pressure against his back as he tried to tun over in his single person bunk. 

Craning his neck he could see her black hair and the soft brown of her cheek. He pressed his elbow into her back and gave a gentle shove. Still apparently asleep, she shoved back. 

“Beckett,” he said, firmly, turning onto his side. “What are you doing in my bunk?” 

He eyes fluttered open and she was face to face with Boimler. She smiled dreamily, before her eyes popped. They were so close. Face. To. Face. CYA, Beckett, and quick!  
“Sleeping, Bradster,” she said confidently. “What else would I be doing? That's what the bunk is for, right?” 

“Yeah, your bunk,” she replied, eyeing her suspiciously. “Again, what are you doing in my bed?” 

She peeked over the edge of the bunk and saw the floor was way too close for her to be in her bunk. She turned back to him. “Uh, it must have been a long night and I didn't feel like climbing.”

Brad rolled his eyes. “You're starting to make this a habit, Beckett. You have a bunk. Use it.” He felt strange speaking so forcefully and to Beckett for that matter. 

“Brad, Brad, Brad,” she said, with a smirk. “Don't pretend you don't like it. Spooning me in the wee hours.”

Boimler turned pink at her revelation. “I-uh, well thats...um not hard to-”

“I don't recall there being any WOOD paneling in these bunks, and yet, there is evidence to the contrary. Get me, Brad?”

His shade of pink deepened to an unearthly shade of purple. He reflexively drew his hips back toward the bulkhead. 

“Stay as long as you like,” he said, in a strangled falsetto. He stepped over her pulling the blanket with him on the way to the showers. 

“Fifteen minute snooze,” Beckett said, closing her eyes. 

“Fifteen minute snooze acknowledged.”

True Friendship 

Brad stood in the doorway of the lav as Beckett wretched into the stainless steel toilet. He was thankful he didn't have to hold her hair, but that didn't lessen his sympathy for her as she dry heaved even after the contents of her stomach had vacated. When she had finished, she pit in the bowl and rested back on her knees. 

“You think that's it?” Brad said, hoping the puking had finally come to an end. 

“Beats me, Boimler,” she wheezed. “Probably s-shouldn't have challenged Ransom to s-shots.” 

“You were already drunk,” Brad said reminded her. “Your game of brinkmanship with the Commander never ends well...for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, staring at the floor. “I keep thinking he'll see me if I beat him at something.”

“Why are you so desperate for him to notice you? You're the captain's daughter, a frustrating underachiever, you drink too much, and are insubordinate. I'm pretty sure he knows who you are. But this isn't about him knowing who you are, is it? This is about you getting his attention. Are you attracted to the Commander?”

She gripped the edge of the bowl and convulsed again and again. Brad turned away to look down and empty corridor. 

“I have exactly k-kept it a fucking s-secret,” she said, spitting again. 

“I never noticed,” he said, flatly. She looked at him from the floor. 

“You didn't want to,” she whispered. 

“No, I didn't,” he admitted. “Ransom is capable, but he's a jerk. He would break your heart, if you ever let him see it.” 

Beckett laughed, but it came out a short wheezes. She looked as terrible and drunk and puking could. Sweat matted hair clunk to her temples and hair line and a few tears had left salty streaks on her cheeks. Her uniform tunic was unclasped as it usually was and she looked exhausted. 

“It's not about love, Brad,” she said. “It's about sex.” 

“You need to stop, Beckett,” he said, seriously, sadness in his eyes. “If you don't, you're going to get hurt worse that you think.”

“Sure thing, Boims,” she said, dismissively. “That's what I have you for. To stop the train before it wrecks.” 

“It hasn't been working,” he said, leaving her kneeling before the toilet. 

Mirror, Mirror 

When Brad entered the commissary and saw Beckett sitting alone at a table at the far end of the room, he smiled. Lunch with her was always a good time. He quickly hit the replicator and made his way to her table. As he got closer his alarm grew. Beckett's hair was up, held in place by a Starfleet issue headband. He sleeves were down and her uniform tunic was properly fastened into place. To make the weirdness even weirder, she was wearing spectacles. Nice looking, complimentary, if absolutely unnecessary, spectacles. 

“Hey, Beckett,” he said as he sat opposite her. “Everything okay?”

She looked at him curiously. “Why wouldn't everything be okay, Ensign Boimler?”

Weirdest. “No reason. What's with the PAAD?” 

“I was reviewing the duty roster updates,” she said, calmly. “That only took a moment. I'm on to waste management improvement techniques to be followed by a second review of Starfleet General Orders.” 

“What set such a fire under you to finally engage your career?” He asked. 

“I've always-I mean I figured it was time to stop messing around and do something with my life.” 

“Cool,” he, said taking a bite of his chicken salad sandwich. “It's about time. There is so much you could accomplish.”   
“I plan to do just that, Brad,” she said, with awkward emphasis on his name. 

“Are you sure you're alright?” 

“Perhaps, a little tired,” she said, yawning. “Nothing a solid eight hours of sleep won't fix.” 

Boimler's eyes narrowed, and he backed away from the table, sending the chair skidding away behind him. 

Suddenly, the trilling sound of the transporter filled his ears and Mariner, Ransom and Shax appeared, phasers drawn. 

Brad reached for his weapon as three beams vaporized the woman before him. 

“You okay, Bradster?” Beckett said coming to his side. She almost got you! I'm glad we got her in time.”

“What do you mean 'got me'?” he asked, confused. 

“She was a Terran Empire spy, dude,” Beckett said. “Strange that she didn't snarl and show an resting bitch face. She must have had time to study me or change her clothes or hair. What kind of spy sticks out so much, am I right?” 

“I kind of liked her,” he said, wistfully. 

“Awww, Boims,” she said boisterously, placing her arm around his shoulders. “Such a kidder. Always trying to be clever. A closely averted assassination deserves a drink. Let's go!”

“The glasses were kind of hot,” he said. 

“I know, right!,” she said in earnest.


End file.
